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It's Raining

By: HandsomeStranger



It was cloudy and overcast when the wheels touched down. As the plane taxied to the gate I began to get nervous. What would it be like? What would we do? Many more questions raced through my mind. 

They all melted away when I met her outside the security area at the airport. She had come to pick me up and I recognized her smiling face instantly. We hugged and embraced – followed by a gentle kiss – and began walking to the parking lot. I couldn't get over how pretty she was. More so than the pics we had shared via email. The curves of her body accentuated by the tight t-shirt and jeans she was wearing. 

When we got to her car, I put the bags on the trunk and we both got in. There was long silence as we sat looking at each other. Then I began to lean towards her and her towards me and we kissed. Soft tender kisses I had dreamed of in a thousand dreams during the time we had spent online. We stopped and looked at each other closely. I traced my fingers on her face and she smiled, taking my hand and kissing my fingers. 

Then she started the car still smiling, and glancing at my now bulging cock made a comment about needing a new stick shift. We both laughed and I took her hand as we drove out of the airport.

Not far from my hotel, she turned into a park. We both agreed that a walk would be nice although my cock was still throbbing. Maybe a walk would bring some relief. She held onto my arm as we walked. Talking to her was as nice and easy as I thought it would be. After awhile I put my arm around her and we walked slower so slow that she rested her head on my shoulder. 

About that time it began to rain. Slowly at first, then picking up. I asked if we should head back to the car and she said no, she didn't mind the rain and smiled as she took my hand and led me forward. By now we were both soaked. Her nipples were fully erect and the lines of her body were exposed by her clinging clothes. She led me to a picnic table off the main walk turned and faced me and I walked into her arms. We kissed passionately holding each other close, melting together in moans that echoed our growing passion. 

She reached down and unzipped my pants – gently taking my cock in her hands and playing with it as we kissed. As the rain continued to fall, she squatted down and began playfully licking my cock. Her hot lips slowly took my member in. I could feel her moans vibrating in the hot tissue of my cock. Slowly she wrapped her lips around it, and made love to it with her mouth. When she took it in up to the hilt I let a moan out that made me look around... but the rain had driven the few people there away and the seclusion of the picnic table was relatively safe for the moment. I stood watching as she went down on me. Moving back and forth with her movements, I closed my eyes and enjoyed the incredible sensations. 

She got up and held me close. Then looking into my eyes she asked me to take her... right there and kissed me gently. I unbuttoned her jeans and lowered her zipper slowly as we kissed. I slid my had in-surprised that there were no panties and found her wet slit. She stopped and slid her jeans down and let them drop. By now the rain had slacked to a mist and as she lay back on the table her long wet hair spread outlining her face and the water droplets glistened against her skin. She raised her knees to her chest and spread her legs wide, asking me to take her again softly pulling me towards her. Leaned over her and positioned my shaft and slid it in. She arched her back thrusting her breasts skyward and gasping in pleasure. Slowly I moved the head of my cock around just inside her. Moving from side to side and just in and out. She tugged my arms and moaned "Please" she gasped and slid it in more starting to move rhythmically with the thrusts of her hips. Then taking it all the way out I thrust it in all the way and began to grind my body against her wet moist cunt.

She reached down moaning, playing with her clit. My movements became faster and now her breasts were moving as I moved I was turned on by the fact that she made no attempt to hold them still but instead lifted her t-shirt and bra up so that I could enjoy them totally. I bent over and began biting her nipples, one then the other, so gently. Taking my teeth and pulling them out making sure it was just enough to stretch them, and then took them all the way in my mouth over and over.

She was moaning frantically now, pushing my head into her chest, grinding her hips against my cock. I rose up and positioned my arms so I could grab her ass and began pounding her hard. The force and speed of my thrusts turned her cries of "YESSSS" in to staccato moans that only urged me faster. 

When she came, she screamed. Gasping, grabbing first the sides of the table, then my arms then arching her back and grabbing the table again. As she tightened her grasp of my body with her thighs my balls exploded. I held me cock inside her as the hot cum filled her and then slowly began thrusting again as it slowed. She still lay gasping, holding the side of the table hard. I leaned over fucking her gently and kissed her. Long slow wet kisses that seemed to last forever. She pushed me up right and took my cock in her mouth and ate all the cum that was left, milking every drop with her hand. Then stood and shared it with me in a deep kiss. 

I don't know how long we stood there kissing and holding each other. But when we finally became aware again. The rain was starting again and we held each other close.

I hoped I'd never have to let her go...

It's Raining



Each drop of cold rain hitting her skin has her gasping for breath as she hurries up the muddy trail behind him. Clutching her skirt high, she frees her legs to fight her way over the soggy earth. She watches him disappear around the switchback through the veil of rain and follows him. As she rounds the corner his hand catches her arm to help her up and pulls her into an alcove formed into the rocky hill side. He steps back as far as he can, and pulls her back against him. Their heavy breathing is lost in the cascade of fat water drops hitting the soaked earth, punctuated by the occasional roll of thunder. He feels her shivering from the cold and leans down against her, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. Her hands move to his hips as she pushes against him, sharing the heat of their bodies. She takes a deep breath filled with the mesmerizing scent of damp earth. She can feel his reaction to their closeness. 

Something primal stirs within her and an electric shiver courses through her body. Subtly she shifts, rubbing sideways over the rigidness pressed against her bottom. His sharp hiss against her ear makes her smile as she shifts again, moving back across his body. His hands grip tightly on her shoulders as she repeats the movement, back and forth. He rocks against her, his hardness straining to reach past the layers of cloth that separate their bodies. Her eyes close as they each continue their slow seductive dances. She feels the tightening of desire within her belly, her movements slowly picking up speed, her hands holding his hips tightly. 

Her eyes open wide, when suddenly he turns them both toward the wall of the alcove. No longer does she see the verdant woods through the haze of rain, but the view shifts to the jagged rocks of the earth shielding them from the growing storm outside. Her hands fly up and catch the wall just as she hears the tantalizing sound of a zipper before she feels the material of her skirt pushed roughly upwards, the cool air upon her bare bottom. His hot hands caress the bare flesh gently, and she feels several inches of warmth press against her. Her greedy body clenches in anticipation, needing to feel the heat sliding inside of her. As if sensing her need and desiring to torture her, he guides himself between her legs to the slick valley nestled between her legs, and rests there while his hands move over her exposed skin. His hands, wide palms and long fingers glide along the sweat and ran dampened flesh of her cheeks, to her hips and down the outside of her thighs. While his hands explore her lower body, his own hips are rocking, causing his entire length to slip back and forth between the plump nether lips, his tip teasing her small nub awake. 

She tries to shift her hips, to guide him where she wants him, but with each maddeningly slow motion, he evades her tactics. She whimpers aloud, raising and lowering her hips in the vain attempt. She reaches down with one hand, in hopes of either simply placing him inside her, or failing that, to sooth the aching button that he is repeatedly bumping against. But he reaches forward grabbing her wrist and placing her hand back on the wall. His own hand slips down, caressing a breast, gliding down her tummy, until it reaches her previous intended destination. Smoothly, his hips still rocking, teasing the entrance she so desperately wants to feel him fill, while his fingers accost the hardened pearl. Rubbing it with a finger on either side, her body jumps against him, almost, just almost enough to have him disappear inside. But with each successive jump, he rocks with her, just barely keeping himself free from the slick tightness beckoning him. 

His other hand cups one of her breasts. The warmth of his hand awakening the nipple that hardens at his touch. He caresses the full globe as his other hand tempts her button. He no longer rocks against her as each caress, each pinch, and each rub cause her body to jump against him. Her full lower lips, slick with desire, graze along the length of him. Her jumps come quicker, her body gently slamming against him in a constant barrage. His fingers between her legs knead the little nub faster, pinching it a little harder, reveling in her soft gasps. Loudly she cries out, he feels her body tremble beneath him as she comes. The hand caressing her breast moves to her waist to hold her. He pulls back intending to enter her with a quick thrust.

In one motion, she uses the weakness in her legs to kneel down as she turns. Her hands move to push him against the opposite wall, so that he leans backwards. A look of hunger on her face, she eyes the tool of her torture, and moves to take it into her mouth. Her plump lips wrap around the head, gliding slowly downward, until she feels him bump the back of her throat. Working the muscles of her mouth, she raises her head back up, then lowering it back down leisurely. He feels a vibration moving along the length, and realizes that she's humming, or moaning, as she tastes herself on him. Upward she moves, her teeth gently raking against the tender skin; downward, her tongue laps the rigidness as it fills her mouth again. Up again, her hands push against his legs. Down, he moves his hands to her head. Up, to the tip, she pauses, her tongue licking along the ridge. Down, her mouth engulfs him. She feels the warmth in her mouth swell, a slow pulsing beat begins. Up, she pauses again, then slowly pulls away, looking up at him with a soft mischievous smile. His drowsy eyes widen as he realizes she is stopping. He leans down and grips her shoulders to pull her up, shoving her against the wall with his body. 

He moves to turn her around again, but she stops by pushing him back and reaches out with her leg to the opposing wall. She places her hands beside her, levering herself up to bring up her other leg. Her body braced across the width of the alcove, she uses one hand to start pulling her skirt to reveal the muscled legs. His surprise turns to understanding, and he pushes her skirt up to reveal her neatly trimmed mound. This time without teasing, in one rough thrust, he enters into the moistened sheath of her body. 

With a sharp cry her head falls back against the rocky wall. He pulls back, and thrusts forward again, shoving her body back. A slight pause, he indulges in the sensation of the slick velveteen feel of her wrapped around the width of him. His hips move back and again he thrusts into her. With each invasion into her body, she gasps a hushed moan. He shoves himself into her, watching with appreciation as her heavy breasts bounce with the force. The cadence of his pounding quickens. Each time a little harder, her moans are not so hushed now. The rain is quieting, the alcove fills with the sounds of his body slapping against hers, the sound of her wetness and her echoing cries. 

Pulling her legs down, she wraps them around him, using him as leverage. She feels the uneven rocks digging into her back with each lunge he makes. Instead of detracting, the quick sharp pain makes her more aware of her body clenching around him, then rippling against emptiness when he pulls away. His girth glides against the sensitive flesh hidden within; the entire measure of him sliding out and away, leaving her to feel empty. Slamming in again, forcing her to cry out at the ache, in joy. As he hastens the thrusting, she pulls him to her, her hands slide down his back, then up again, beneath his shirt. She drags her nails along his back as she clings to him. Gasps, moans and whimpers caress his ears as he leans into her. His teeth find the tender flesh of her shoulder, and he hides his own moans in a rough bite. 

Again she feels the swell, the slow pulsing. She matches his rhythm, riding against him, forcing him into her harder. The pulsing becomes a throb within. He moves his mouth and she can hear his shallow breathing before he bites her again, her nails dig deeper into his back. A perfect moment she doesn't want to end, the rough onslaught of his body against hers, feeling the pulsations as he is galvanized by her sounds, scent, taste and tightness. A gust of cold air blows into the nook. He lets out a growl as he peaks, her body sensitive to the rush of his orgasm pushes her over the edge again. Her constricting grasp around him draws out his climax, milking him demandingly. Finally, the earthen recess is filled with the serene splashing of rain, their soft sighs and the scent of wet earth mingled with the aroma of pleasure.



It's Raining Men



"Oh, you thought you were so clever, didn't you? Strutting around, preening and mocking, thinking you knew everything...oh, I knew. You thought I didn't know, but I knew. You hated me, you laughed at me, but soon I'll be laughing. Oh, yes. I'll be the one laughing, not you! The way you looked at me, looked at me and laughed, but now I'll show you once and for all that--"

"I never laughed at you," Lori said. "Anna, did you laugh at George?"

"No!" Anna said. She didn't bother struggling in her chair. They'd both given up struggling about twenty minutes ago, when it became clear that there was no give to the leather straps. "In fact, George, I always thought you were a nice guy. I mean, kind of shy, but you kind of get to expect that, being a pretty girl working in the higher sciences."

"I know just what you mean," Lori said solemnly. "I'd actually rather date an intelligent man over some dimwitted pretty boy, but our colleagues always seem to be intimidated by my looks. It's really--"

"Don't lie to me!" George shrieked furiously, spittle flying from his lips. "I know you laughed, I saw you! The two of you together, looking over at me, whispering, giggling over some private joke...I saw it! With my own eyes, I saw it!"

Lori and Anna looked at each other in mild confusion. "Sorry, George," Anna said after a moment, "but when was this?"

"Three weeks ago," George said, clearly seeing the moment as if it were burned indelibly into his mind's eye. "The two of you, looking over at me, whispering, giggling, laughing at me! Oh, but you'll pay. I'll show you, and you'll pay. You'll beg me to forgive you, beg me! And then I'll be the one who's laughing! Ahahahahahahahahahahaha! Ahahahahahahaha! Ahahahahaha--"

"Wait, three weeks ago today?" Lori interrupted. "Because I was out of the office that day, attending that conference in Chicago."

"No, not three weeks ago today," George snapped. "Three weeks ago on...Monday. No, wait, it was a Tuesday. They had tacos in the cafeteria that day."

Anna stared into space for a moment, lost in thought. "Oh, right!" she said after a moment. Her body jerked in the straps as she reflexively tried to smack her own forehead. "I remember now! Oh, George, we weren't talking about you. We'd been out the previous night to see 'Avenue Q' together, and we were talking about it! You know how you have those Muppet action figures on your desk? We kept looking over, seeing them, and losing it all over again because they looked so much like the puppets in the play."

"Oh, God," Lori said, "that still kills me. 'The Internet is for porn!'" She giggled. "So fucking true."

George slammed his hand against a bank of controls. "Could you take me seriously for one second?" he shouted. "This is exactly the kind of thing I'm talking about! I've drugged you, kidnapped you, and strapped you down, and you're still just acting like I'm not even here! Okay, fine, you might not literally be laughing at me, but you're still making fun!"

Anna shrugged as best as she could. "Sorry, George, but you're just not the menacing type. You've got that 'cute' face, you know? Just a little rounding in the cheeks, a sort of snubby nose, and the hair is blond and curly. It's hard to be scared by a guy with blond, curly hair."

"Yeah," Lori said. "And the whole belly thing. I mean, don't get me wrong," she continued quickly, "it's not like you've got a huge gut or something, but you're not really lithe and sinister. And at 5'7", you need to be lithe and sinister if you want to pull off being menacing. Stocky, short guys just look like they're compensating for something."

"I am not compensating for anything!" George shouted furiously. "That's it! You have just proved to me that I made exactly the right decision by capturing you and forcing you to watch the culmination of my triumph! Oh, you mocked my height, my weight--"

"It wasn't mockery!" Lori pointed out indignantly. "I was just saying that you'd be better off adopting a persona that fit your physical attributes--"

"SHUT! UP!" George screamed. "I am about to perform the greatest act of scientific genius known to human existence! I would like five minutes to explain it!"

There was a long pause. "Well, sure," Anna said, after it became clear George expected a response. "All you needed to do was ask. You didn't even need the straps, really. We're both very interested in your work."

"Oh, I needed the straps," George said, grinning madly. "Because if you knew, if you knew what I was about to do to your feeble, pathetic minds, you'd try to stop me. You'd never let me throw this switch." He caressed the knob on the end of a large steel lever. "Because once I throw this switch, my Mentalizer Ray will override the wills of every human being on the face of the planet, making them all into my eager, willing servants! They will wish nothing more than to please me in every way, to obey my every command and unspoken thought! They..." He eyed the two women lasciviously. "...and you...will be my mindless, devoted slaves."

There was another long pause. Lori and Anna looked over at each other again, unsure of exactly what to say. "Um...probably a stupid question, George," Anna said, "but why did you go to all the trouble of kidnapping us if you were just going to throw that switch and make us slaves? I mean, what if you'd gotten caught?"

"It was worth the risk," George said, his hand now firmly clasping the lever. "I wanted the two of you to know that you would soon be my brainwashed servants, caressing my body and pleasuring me with your..." He blushed and mumbled something.

"Sorry," Lori said, "didn't quite catch that."

"Your, um...yourvaginas," George repeated as fast as he could. His face reddened further. "Anyway." He coughed. "I wanted you to know that I, the one you mocked, the one you laughed at, the one you derided and despised--"

"Really, George, we didn't--" the two women said almost in unison.

"Silence!" George shouted. "Doesn't matter! The point is, I wanted you to know that I would soon be the master of your very souls!" He cackled madly. "Now, tremble in fear, as I throw the final circuit!"

He slammed the lever home. The machinery hummed to life with an ominous thrum. "That's right, my beauties! Can you feel it? Can you feel my machine wiping your thoughts away, turning your defiance inexorably into blank obedience to my will? Can you feel your very self ebb under the irresistible force of my Mentalizer Ray?"

"Um," Anna said, "I don't think so."

"I might be," Lori said encouragingly. "What does it feel like?"

"I've never actually tried it myself," George said conversationally. "My brain patterns are shielded from the Ray. But I imagine it would feel sort of like--" He stopped short and glared at the two women. "Oh, FUCK!" he shouted as loudly as he could in the emptiness of the warehouse. "It doesn't fucking work! Oh, dammit, dammit, dammit..."

"Now, George," Anna said, "it might not be as bad as all that. I mean, it's clearly doing something, right?"

George practically trembled with rage. "Stop being sympathetic!" he shouted. "It's bad enough that the machine I spent the last ten years of my life working on doesn't fucking do anything without you being so...so nice about it!"

"We just don't want you to get so upset," Lori said. "I mean, setbacks are part of science. We know just how you're feeling right now. We've all gotten frustrated once or twice, and you know, you just have to pick yourself up and figure out what went wrong."

"But at least you didn't have an audience!" George shouted. "I mean, here I go, making the big speech before I pull the lever, going to all the trouble to kidnap an audience, and what happens? Nothing!" His eyes were watery, his lower lip trembling. "I must look like a total idiot right now."

"Well," Anna began, but her words were cut off by the sound of the warehouse door opening, followed by the sound of footsteps. After a moment, a policeman walked into the circle of light created by the machine's energies.

"Oh, hello, officer!" Lori said. "I'm so glad to see you! Look, one of our co-workers had a little bit of a funny turn, and put us in these chairs. I don't think we want to press charges, but could you just go ahead and let us out of--"

"I am yours to command, Master," the policeman said, dropping to his knees in front of George. His eyes were blank and glassy, and he reached out with trembling hands towards George's body.

George took a rapid step back. "Whoa, there," he said quickly. "Let's just...just stick to doing what I tell you for now, okay? Master doesn't swing that way, if you get what I mean." He paused, his jaw slowly dropping in astonishment as he realized what he'd just said. "Master...oh my sweet flying spaghetti monster, it actually fucking worked!" George let out a wild, exuberant whoop and began to dance a tiny little jig. "It worked! It worked it worked it worked it worked!"

"Still not doing anything to me," Anna said.

"Me neither," Lori said. "I feel a weird tingle in the back of my neck, but I think that's just a pinched nerve from sitting in this chair for so long."

"Oh, you have that too?" Anna asked. "Do you have that sort of weird not-quite-pins-and-needles thing in your thighs? Because that is really driving me crazy right now--" She noticed George staring at them. "What? It is!"

"You're right," George said. "If it worked on him, it should work on you. I wonder why it didn't?"

"Perhaps it's some sort of minimum range thing?" Lori asked. "Like we're too close to the machine to be hit with whatever kind of field it's generating?"

"No," George said, shaking his head. "I compensated for that, it's got multiple secondary transmitters in position at key points around the globe. You should always be in range of one no matter where you are--" He broke off abruptly. "Hey!" he snapped, a suspicious look on his face. "Why would you be helping me with this?"

"He's right, you know," Anna said reproachfully. "We really shouldn't be helping him figure out why it's not enslaving us."

"Sorry," Lori replied, shrugging as best as she could in the restraints. "I got caught up in the intellectual challenge."

George looked at them for a moment longer, then waved dismissively. "Doesn't matter," he said. "In fact, I think I kind of like the idea of the two of you retaining your free will. Just think about it, the two of you trapped in a world where every human being except you recognizes the genius of George Camden. You'll never have any friends, while I...I will have every man and woman in the world to keep me company. Some more than others, of course." He leered at them. "I might just make you watch. Gagged, naturally," he said as he saw them start to open their mouths to comment on the idea. "Yes, I like that. Making you witness night after night of my conquests, the most gorgeous women in the world begging to obey me, and you forced to watch it all, knowing that you'll never have sex again unless I choose to let you. Your willpower slowly eroding over days, weeks, months of sexual frustration until you beg me to fuck you of your own volition..."

He was interrupted by another arrival. This time, it was a bike messenger, pedaling to a halt inside the circle of light and getting off his bicycle. He walked towards George, saying, "I am yours to command, Master," and his lycra shorts left no doubt as to exactly what kinds of commands he wanted to hear.

"That's great," George said, pointing over to where the policeman was still kneeling. "Over there, okay?" He looked back to the two women, still strapped into the chair. "Any moment, now," he said. "Any moment, you'll see the nubile young women begin to find their way to me, their natural Master, and you'll see how eager they are to obey my every command. My every urge. I might even decide to stick it in their--" He blushed again. "Um."

"Their butts?" Lori supplied helpfully.

"Um. Yes. That." George coughed in embarrassment. "Anyway. The point is, it's only a matter of time before these men are joined by a harem of beautiful, sexy women to pleasure me like the ruler I am."

"Are you sure it works on women?" Anna asked thoughtfully.

"What?" George hissed.

"Well, I'm just saying, it didn't work on us, and it did work on these two guys...I was just wondering if you tested it out on women."

George crossed his arms defensively. "I tested it out on simulated brain patterns," he replied, "and it worked just fine, thank you very much. As these obedient slaves prove. Two people do not form a reliable baseline for data!"

"Whose simulated brain patterns did you use?" Lori asked.

"I, um..." George feigned casualness. "My own, of course." They looked at him. "Well, it's not exactly like I could go to someone else and say, 'Excuse me, could I just scan your brain patterns? It's so that I can build a mind-controlling device!'"

"It's not that we don't understand," Anna said, "it's just that you did just say that two people aren't a reliable baseline for data. And you calibrated the machine based off of just one person. It might be worth considering that there's some sort of fundamental difference in brain patterns between men and women, something you didn't account for--"

"I accounted for everything!" George shouted in a high, child-like voice. "I am a genius, and you two are just...just...sniping, that's what you're doing. You're sniping because you're jealous of my brilliance, and my audacity, and my ambition, and Oh, crap!" Two more men walked into the circle of light, both sporting obvious hard-ons.

"We are yours to command, Master," they said in unison, both of them unbuttoning their shirts and licking their lips in anticipation.

"Shirts! On!" George snapped out. "Go stand with the others." He glared back at Anna and Lori. "I know what you're thinking," he said, "but this doesn't prove anything."

"No," Lori replied reasonably, "but it does corroborate our theory. At this point, I'll agree that it's still too little data to provide an actual proof."

Anna frowned. "I don't think it'd be a proof. More of a law. Actually, George, you might get a really good paper out of this. 'Fundamental Differences In Male and Female Thought Patterns, and the Implications For Practical Mind Control'. I'd be happy to co-author, if you'd like."

"Laugh while you can!" George snarled.

"I wasn't laughing, I was seriously--"

"Laugh while you can!" George repeated, cutting Anna off. "You're wrong, I know it! You think I wouldn't know if I'd built a mind control device that only worked on men? Is that what you think?"

Anna and Lori looked at each other. "Yes," they said.

"You'll see!" George shouted. "You'll all see, when the nubile young women come crawling to me, begging for sex..." He broke off, a wide grin on his face at the sight of another person entering the circle of light. "Like that!" he crowed triumphantly, pointing to the new arrival.

She was slender, lithe, with the body of a gymnast under her red satin dress. Her lips were full and sensual, and she worked her tongue over them lasciviously before saying, "I am yours to command, Master," in husky tones.

"Hahahahaha!" George cackled. "Doesn't work on women, does it?" He beckoned to the lady in red. "Come over here, pet. Come over here and show these two exactly how well my device functions on your beautiful female brain."

The woman sauntered over to George on six-inch heels. She dropped to her knees and unzipped his fly, reaching into his pants and pulling out his already-stiffening cock. "Oh, Master," she whispered reverently. "It's so perfect..." With a gasp of ecstasy, she plunged her mouth onto his dick, swallowing the whole thing in a single stroke.

George bucked his hips into his new slave, fucking her face as he groaned in pleasure. "Oh, yes," he whimpered. "Oh, just like that, your mouth is so...so talented." She said nothing in reply, just bobbed her head up and down on his dick as she worked her hands over his balls.

Seemingly forgotten in George's haste to get his rocks off, Lori and Anna exchanged glances. They looked back over at the woman in red furiously sucking away at George's cock. Then they looked back at each other.

"You see the adam's apple, right?" Lori whispered.

Anna nodded. "But he seems so happy," she said helplessly. "Maybe it's for the best."

George shuddered once, then again as he shot his load down his new conquest's throat.

THE END



It's Raining Men Pt. 01



"Fucking useless men," I said.

"Yes they can be."

"I have had it up to here with them," I replied touching the top of my blonde hair.

"Yes it did sound like that."

"You obviously heard us in the garden."

"It was rather difficult to avoid Chris."

"Yes, I am sorry."

"Don't be silly."

"Anyway it's kind of you to invite me round."

"Not at all that's what neighbours are for love."

That was almost a year ago now. It was the day I kicked my husband out after finding he'd been unfaithful to me yet again. In that time, as I waited for my divorce to come through I only had sex with one person. Just one person in all that lonely period. And then only twice with them. That night and once again a week or so later. But that sex was wonderful. It was different to any I'd had before. It was invigorating, exciting and so satisfying and it was with the person who had heard me arguing with my husband and who had invited me round. Yes, the only person I had sex with was my neighbour Phillipa, a woman some ten or so years older than me.

*

But after her I stopped. It somehow didn't seem proper. I did not have the inclination. I did not have the will to leave my twelve-year old daughter to go on dates. Also, I did not feel the need to 'have a drink' with husbands of friends who once I was separated found that they had fancied me for years or that their wives really didn't understand them. I had not realised how popular I had been all these years I'd been with my husband. Silly girl! 

At thirty-nine there doesn't seem to be that many eligible single men around. After the hurt I had been through there was no way I could do that to another woman hence, married ones were out. So, a combination of being emotional and very morose, disillusionment with men, a general lack of availability and trying to bring some semblance of order to my shattered life all signalled one thing. I became almost a recluse in my home in Manor Road, Chigwell, where I remained barricaded up against any marauding males with my daughter, Emily, for almost a year. 

I spent that year working hard on the divorce that, thankfully, in the end turned out to be reasonably amicable. Both he and I wanted it to be as easy on Emily as it could be and we went out of our way to avoid any unnecessary acrimony. Fortunately money was not really too much of a problem for I had helped him build up his small company into a much larger one and he was able to buy out my shareholding. He was also generous, but then he always was and with more than money. I found out as my lawyer delved into his past that he was a serial adulterer. As it turned out, he had been unfaithful to me throughout the marriage. The bastard, but then he is a man!

*

Although I had nothing to do with men and after Phillipa I had no sex at all, it was, looking back, an interesting time. I started playing golf and tennis again. I got a new car and I got a job. Calling on old contacts, I started writing copy on a freelance basis. Mainly, as it turned, out for recruitment ads but also some technical stuff, a little scriptwriting and a few speeches for a big company whose marketing director I had known for some time. Quite badly, it seemed, he wanted to get into my knickers so we had numerous meetings about the speeches he had to give as he briefed me in person. I took his briefs but never gave him my knickers, after all 'never fuck a client' is an old ad industry dictate and, in any case, he was married.

I also found several new things on the Internet; erotic story sites, porn and chat rooms. And boy did I need them. Having had an active and varied sex life during my marriage and rarely going more than a couple or three days without it, I needed a different form of relief - masturbation. During my marriage, other than when we had phone sex when he was away or when I masturbated as he watched, I had pretty much given it up. Having made my discoveries a month or so after my fling with Phillipa, I made great use of them during the ensuing months; they became my jerk off aids!

"Have you ever cybered?" was the question that started it off.

At the time, I did not even know what it meant.

"What do you mean?" I typed back.

"Have sex on here?"

"Fuck off," I typed putting him on ignore.

However, most of the chats I had gradually turned to sex as I suspect most chats for most people do. Not necessarily heavy aspects of it or too deep, but general questions and answers. I didn't mind that as it aroused me a little thus, making relieving myself easier when I logged off. I had come to terms now, with my real reasons for spending many hours in chat rooms, I was lonely, had too much time on my hands and needed something else to do with them! In other words it helped me to masturbate.

I was really surprised how quickly I got to know people in the rooms. Levels of familiarity, quickly turned to a sort of friendship that rapidly became quite intimate. I found topics that would be unthinkable to talk about in reality were relatively openly discussed. Was it me, I often asked myself? So I put that question to my chat friend Mark.

"No," he typed back. "I find it with most people, well the intelligent ones at least."

We discussed that at some length and reached the conclusion that the anonymity of the web helped us lose our inhibitions.

"And that means Chrissy, I can ask your breast size and what types of panty you prefer. Lol" He typed.

I could hardly believe that I typed.

"35 C and a thong or boy shorts." 

At his request I also told him that I was 5' 6" tall, weighed 137 pounds, had blonde hair that I wore long down to my shoulders. I guess that was the start of my virtual sexual relationship with him. The next couple of times we chatted we went further and further. We even exchanged photos, with me cropping mine so that he could see only part of my face.

"What is your most sexually attractive feature?" he asked a few sessions later.

I told him that it was my bum.

"Why?" He asked.

"Because at nearly forty it is still pert and firm."

I guess I was on dodgy ground and maybe I was setting myself up for what came next.

"I really am a bum man Chris."

"Are you?"

"Yes, I adore stroking them, squeezing them and kissing them."

I suppose if I was not up for it, I should have stopped there and changed the subject as I had several times with him in the past few weeks. Instead I said. 

"Do you?"

"Yes Chris I do and I would love to kiss yours."

I gulped. Not so much at what he had said, I had heard far worse, but at my reaction. I felt a surge of arousal.

"Would you Mark?"

"Yes, would you like that?"

Things were going downhill rapidly when I typed.

"Maybe?"

"Imagine you are kneeling Chris wearing just that thong."

This really was pee or get off the pot time. With hardly any hesitation I typed.

"Yes."

"And I am behind you, ok?"

"Yes."

"Can you feel my hands cupping your breasts as I run my tongue across your right cheek.

"Yes." 

"And do you like it?"

"Yes."

"Is it exciting you Chrissy as you feel me kiss your right cheek."

"Yes."

"Do you like me pinching your nipples Chris?"

I was in alone that night as Emily was on a sleepover at a school friend's house. It was quite warm and I had been sunbathing on my terrace, which is quite secluded. As I often do, I had been topless, but not then naked as I occasionally sunbathe, and when I came inside an hour or so ago I had just slipped a tee shirt on over my bikini panties. 

I was becoming worked up and as I typed I found my hand reaching for my breast. 

"Yes," I typed doing precisely that to myself.

"Can you feel my tongue going so very near to the crease in your bum?"

"Oh god, I can."

"Are you very aroused Chrissy, I am."

"Yes. Are you Mark?"

"Yes you have made me very hard. Are you wet? Are your nipples hard?"

"Yes I am and yes they are."

"Have you touched yourself?"

"Yes have you?"

"Yes of course I have, I am rubbing my cock. What are you doing?"

"Holding my breast."

He asked me what I was wearing and I told him. He told me that he was naked and suggested that I remove my tee shirt. I felt very adventurous when I did that.

"Do you want to masturbate with me Chrissy?" was the next killer question that I suppose I should have evaded, but I didn't.

"Maybe."

"Touch your pussy for me," he asked.

I did. It was like an electric shock. "Have you Chris?"

"Yes Mark."

"Inside or outside your panties?"

"Outside," I lied as my fingers slid along my wetness.

"You sure Christine? Are you sure your fingers are not inside your panties. I bet they are."

I didn't reply and he went on to say that he was pumping his cock and thinking that he was fucking me. I had sent him a selfie, well before they were called that, so he knew what I looked like as I did him.

"They are in them aren't they Chrissy?"

I could lie no more. "Yes."

"And are wonderfully wet?"

"Yes," I typed as I pushed two fingers inside me.

"Are near Chris?"

"Yes, are you?"

"Oh yes, cum with baby, cum now Chrissy."

I did. Hard, long and strong. It was as powerful a self-induced climax as I had ever experienced.

I guess it was like taking drugs. After the first fix, I wanted more and stronger experiences and I became hooked. I cybered with Mark several more times, but then, with the web being so transitory, we moved on. For the next few months until I felt able to go for the real thing, I became cyber promiscuous. Generally, I had three or four regulars and as one would drop off I would find a replacement. Don't get me wrong, it was not a daily occurrence, but then I do not think that during those few moths I ever went a week without 'having a fix.'

Inevitably, I suppose, I went further and I pushed out the boundaries. 

Occasionally I would initiate something with a throwaway remark and now and then I would give in very easily and would 'fuck on the first date.' I got into role-plays and described giving blow-jobs, having them cum on my face or tits and of course being fucked in most positions. I admitted to one ''friend that I had a vibrator and used it on myself describing in minute detail what I was doing. I let one guy call me and the sex we had on the phone was blisteringly good. I drew the line, though, at cam to cam.

The other aspects of my 'chat room' period were that I broadened my knowledge and understanding of sex quite considerably. I had no idea just how many different fetishes people, well men mainly, had nor that there were so many different sexual practices that turned them on. Also, I became less judgemental. If a man wanted to discuss something with me, perhaps him wearing women's panties, spanking or me wearing a strapon, if he was able to discuss it in a reasonably intelligent way, I found myself being willing to do so.

So, in defence of my rather pathetic 'hobby,' I claim it as a period of learning and growing when I became a fuller and more rounded person, intellectually at least. You may see it different and consider it to be a time when I indulged myself in a deviant sort of electronic sex. As they say, 'you pays your money and you makes your choice!

*

Then the divorce came through and things were different in many ways.

We decided to sell the house in Chigwell and I bought a garden apartment in a nearby area, Buckhurst Hill. That was convenient for Emily's school, my golf and tennis clubs and near to her and my friends

Once the wait for the finalisation of the divorce was lifted from my shoulders, I felt better. I felt more able to start rebuilding my life. I stopped being the reclusive celibate. I bought a whole new wardrobe as I set out to become a single woman of the 21st century. A liberated female. One who could take or leave men. One who recognised sex for what it was. Basically a commodity to be enjoyed. Not something that was mixed up with love and affection, but a pleasure, an indulgence, something I would do because I wanted to. No other reason, no other motives. 

Oh yes, as I signed the final divorce papers sitting in my lawyer's office in my new Janet Regar thong and ridiculously skimpy bra under the tight linen trousers and low cut top, I was sure that I would now be able to 'fuck 'em and leave 'em' just as men do us,

For a while it worked just like that. For a weird year and a bit I did 'fuck 'em and leave 'em.' I may well have actually fucked a few too many and certainly I left too many for at the end there were none left. 

Was I promiscuous? Of course. Was I an easy lay? Well fairly? Was the sex good? You bet. Was I happy? Was I by fuck? No I wasn't!

My first date after the divorce was a salutary lesson and an amazing experience for me. It was also quite funny, sad, all mixed up and, overall rather disappointing!

He was someone I met at a golf tournament as his club Toot Hill. We got on well as we played and we chatted easily at the following dinner. Older than me in his mid-forties, Peter was a widower with two children. Well-off, a lawyer with his own five-bedroom house in the town where I had spent most of marriage he met me at an opportune time just a couple of weeks after the divorce was finalised which was the time I had set myself to re-enter life! Well at least to make an effort at it. Now over a year without any form of physical, let alone sexual contact, I guess I was close to being so frustrated that even a glance from a good-looking man could start things moving in me.

When he asked me out I at first found myself starting to refuse as I had done throughout the previous months, but then I remembered my pledge to myself so I accepted. We had dinner and then I met him for lunch and we went out a couple of times for drinks. Other than a few brief pecks on the cheek and one fairly energetic goodnight kiss there had been nothing physical between us although clearly the time for that was approaching. I could feel the pressure of the 'if you don't like the heat get out of the kitchen' or more crudely, but probably more accurately, 'pee or get off the pot' being applied. After all, people of our ages don't go out purely to talk about golf do they? In fact, as we had little else in common that was largely what we chatted about. The moment when I, excuse me, was supposed to pee came with the suggestion from him, that I have now learned is quite prevalent amongst the new age men movement, which largely had passed me by, of 'come round to mine, I'll cook dinner.'

In the two days since he had asked my mind had been on little else. 

I just could not get my head around whether I would go to bed with him if that was proposed. On the one hand I wanted to. I needed sex and I wanted to have another man. A man free from the impositions of wife-swapping, revenge affairs and the red mists I'd had in the latter days with my ex. I needed to know whether I would be able to respond to and accept his advances. Whether I would become aroused and indeed, whether I would be able to have an orgasm? I'd had no physical contact with a man for so long and, although I had found relief and a degree of satisfaction from other means, I knew that I was enormously frustrated. I was also concerned at that, for I was worried that I would appear rather inexperienced and that I might climax too quickly and make a sexual fool of myself. Was dating worth it I began to wonder?

Countering all this, though, was my natural reticence. I had never given myself easily and I did not want to start this new period of my life as being an easy lay! On top of that, although I liked him and did, as far as things had gone, quite fancy him, I didn't know whether this would transmit itself into the sort of sexual chemistry that I felt would be necessary to have good sex with him. I was out of touch with seduction. It had been so long that the outlook that seems to have become quite natural nowadays of, 'we get on well so let's fuck' had never been part of my thinking.

So, in a quandary I had packed Emily off for the night as opposed to having a friend in, just in case I stayed over. As I was getting ready, I was like a schoolgirl on a first date. I could not decide what to wear. Rejecting some things because I felt they were too sexy and others because they were too formal I took ages to prepare myself. I bathed, washed my shoulder-length blonde hair, dried that and spent simply ages with my make-up. 

I felt that I had better dress with a view to being undressed later, so I paid special attention to my underwear. 

Should it be seductive black or virginal white? Or a pastel colour in between? I pondered on the bra. Net, thin and see through so that should my nipples erupt they would be clearly visible through my top, or thicker and more supportive to create a more interesting and dramatic cleavage? Tights or stockings? I mused over these critical matters for ages? And then of course there was the panties. The modern, high-waisted cut severely at the thighs type or perhaps, a thong, maybe French, possibly boy shorts or little bikini ones?

God the agonies of rejoining the dating game.

I eventually got myself to his house and we had a couple of drinks before he served me a well-prepared dinner. The atmosphere was easy between us and any concerns or inhibitions I had were being washed away with the bottle or so of white wine that we drank. At the end of the meal, I got up and said that I would clear away but he wouldn't hear of it saying.

"Leave it until tomorrow." 

Feeling surprisingly warm towards him I went round the table and I kissed him on the cheek and thanked him for the lovely meal. His hand reached out and rested on my hip as I bent over and my top of course gaped a little. His eyes, naturally I suppose went down my top and he pulled me onto his lap. How many years had it been since I had sat on a lap and had a snog, I wondered?

We kissed for some time his hands running up and down my back, outside the grey cashmere sweater. It sent pleasant feelings through me. I felt comfortable and at ease on his lap and showed no resistance when I felt his hands inside the sweater on my bare back. The intensity of his kiss increased and I responded. As his tongue searched deep into my mouth sending signals of his passion to me, my tongue touched his and pressed back against it. It obviously worked for slowly he moved his hand round to the front moving closer and closer to my breasts, but taking the time to gain my tacit approval at each stage.

Then lightly he touched one of them. It felt wonderful. The first time a new partner touches a woman intimately really is lovely and so arousing. This was no exception. They had not been caressed by anyone other than me for such a time, so the feelings were even more intense and special. Slowly and gently he stroked and rubbed me through the thin, black lace teasing the pink tip into a rock-hard protuberance. Feeling no resistance at all from me, he became more welcomingly adventurous easing his fingers inside one of the cups so that they were right on the nipple that once more exploded with feelings.

Now confident of my compliance and agreement his boldness grew and he pushed the thin sweater up so that he could see my breasts. I was pleased with my choice of bra for I knew that his eyes would be gazing at the two orbs encased in the gossamer thin, black net material and that he would be seeing the swollen nipples clearly. We manhandled the sweater off and it was only moments later that I felt the clasp being unclipped and the pressure on my breasts relieved as he removed the bra. He was now looking at me naked above the waist and he said very softly,

"Oh Christine they are so lovely!"

It's a very special moment when a new partner gazes at a woman's bare breasts for the first time. The feelings of pride as he compliments you and the, usually, clear indications that you are arousing him are lovely as is the want that seems to go through one from exposing such an intimate part of your body. His hands, now on my bare flesh, did incredible things to me and he murmured.




It's Raining Men Pt. 01



"Let's go to bed Chrissy?"

Feeling a little like a topless waitress at one of those lap dance clubs in London I stood up as he, in a rather laboured way, lifted himself out of the deep chair clearly a little embarrassed at his erection being on show. Standing, in just the leather trousers and high heels, I waited his arrival in a vertical form and that seemed to take for ages. At last he was beside me the bulge in his trousers looking partly rather ridiculous and partly extremely encouraging, 

"Wow I've caused that," I thought.

We embraced and began to sort of dance to the music. His strong arms pulling me to him I felt ready for him and was relieved that I felt prepared to break my celibacy in such a romantic style. I undid his shirt and let his quite hairy chest send extra thrills through the skin of my boobs as we gyrated together on the spot his hands exploring my bottom through the thin leather that was stretched taught across its rounded softness. As if glued together I felt the assuring hard length of his maleness pressing wonderfully and confidently into my belly. After such a long abstinence from feeling an erection, it was both exciting and a little daunting for I was out of practice at what was soon to come. Female intuition and sheer lust took over though and I found myself pressing back against the rod-like piston of flesh (in basic English I mean his cock but I'm feeling flowery) draining every last bit of feeling from it into me. It was gorgeous.

My breasts jiggling as he walked me up the stairs to his bedroom I felt wantonly expectant as we stood by the bed and embraced once more. Looking at each other we, wordlessly both started undoing our trousers our eyes taking in each new sight that was revealed: his boxer shorts ballooning out around his erection: the lacy top of my panties that showed him that I was not wearing tights: his muscular thighs and the respectable bulge in his pants. (Feeling relieved that I hadn't worn my Bridget Jones) the tight pocket of lace across my pubic area and the tops of my black, self-support stockings. His flat tummy and the mass of brown pubic hair clustered above and around his manhood as he slid his boxers down. My legs encased in the luxuriant, black stockings that I hoped flattered them and made them look longer and more alluring. 

My body was now crying out to be made love to as I saw, for the first time in over a year that object of such pride to men and intrigue to women. That appendage that to women has little X factor other than when its up close and personal and about to do its business. And his wasn't at all bad as far as such rather silly looking things go. After all there are only so many varieties of cock aren't there? A little more length here and a tad more girth there for sure. But come on lads, especially those in chat rooms when they ask "what do you thinks of it?" What the hell do they expect? For Christ's sake they're all really much of a muchness aren't they? Almost, but not quite, 'seen one seen 'em all really.' 

But I digress and simplify the situation regarding women and penises. It's far more of a complex issue than that. That little, medium or large tower of blood bloated flesh that to most women when looked on in a photo has a sterility about it verging on looking at paint dry, somehow changes radically when one is confronted by one in close up. When one witnesses the amazing effect one has had on another party to produce that, it changes the female's perspective. It alters her way of thinking. Maybe it's just the intimacy, the feeling of pride in a well done or possibly because that thing is soon to penetrate her innermost womanliness, that her view changes? Then suddenly she probably thinks 'I don't want a bit of sterile blood bloated flesh up me' so, with the flexibility of thought and opinion that makes us such fascinatingly frustrated creatures it becomes an object of such beauty that we can't keep out hands off them can we?

So let's get on. What else was there to look at?

Ah yes that wonderful sack hanging down that is so attractive to women and so thrilling to touch and fondle. Balls are, I think, our alternative to tits for you. I used to play with My exes's for ages, Rolling them in one's hands as Captain Queeg (was it in Caine Mutiny?) did with those ball bearings, actually that was just before they declared him mad, can be such a wonderful attraction to us that I wonder someone hasn't invented a plastic version to sell at lingerie parties and in Anne Summer shops. Talk about hot cakes!!

"No," he croaked as I went to remove my panties. "Please leave them on for a while." Feeling a might over-dressed against his total nakedness I did, though, do as he said.

Right back to the serious stuff. I was now hellishly nervous and not completely sure that I should be doing this. I liked him, he made me laugh and he wasn't bad company but was that enough to warrant having his sterile rod in me? I pondered for a moment as I lay on the bed in my black thong and stockings and watched him climb on and lay beside me.

As we kissed, his hands caressed my bottom moving nearer and nearer to my crutch that was, actually, aching to receive him. And then they were there! As his fingers slid inside my panties and touched the, by now, sodden wetness of, my body once more exploded with sensations. The feelings that his touch were sending through me were accelerated and increased by those I was gaining from having his warm, throbbing length grasped, probably slightly too, firmly in my hand. I had forgotten just what it was like to hold a man's cock. The combination of the hardness, with just a touch of give in it, and the warmth and feeling of throbbing power that I had created in him is heady stuff I always find and especially so with a new partner. Oh how I wanted that in me. I felt giddy with the thought that so soon now I would once again have a man invade me.

But that had to wait its turn for my body was reacting powerfully to the hand doing such deliciously arousing things between my thighs. I was cumming and I knew there was no stopping it. My body also transmitted that to him and he pulled me even tighter to him as the shudders of expectant sexual release ran through me. I sighed and moaned as my first man induced climax for so long took over and transported me to that place of such pleasure.

That was bad enough. Here he was thinking he'd pulled a woman in her supposed sexual prime. One that was up and ready for anything with up to twenty years solid sexual experience behind her. A divorcee who was naturally gagging for it and who had the maturity and skills to be a really good lay. And what does she do? What she bloody well does is cum immediately he touches her. Oh yes what a lay? What an experienced woman? What a skilled lover? And it got worse for, as the amazingly powerful orgasm swept over me with wave after wave of what seemed like increasingly intensive sensations, so my emotions just exploded and I started to cry. Floods of fucking tears everywhere, mascara down my face, hair all over the place, bloody tits heaving and my body jerking like a junky doing cold turkey I cried and cried. The poor sod had no idea what was going on and even less as to what to do. I could see that he wasn't sure whether to cuddle me leave me alone or jump between my thighs and try and fuck me.

The evening didn't end on a very high note. After that exhibition I think he was convinced that instead of an experienced lover who would transmit him to sexual heaven, he had on his hands a bloody nutcase that might easily take him to the hell of madness. 

Needless to say he wasn't happy that all he'd got for his efforts slaving over the stove was a grope of my tits and a hand in my knickers and I have to say I felt bad about that. I recognised that it was not good value. A half dozen quite delicious King Prawns and a lovely crown of lamb, not to mention two bottle of Chablis and four or five previous dates, must be worth more than a flash of boob and a touch of pussy. If not the laws of economics, that I know may at times be cloudy, would have no meaning at all would they? So compensation was needed. Restitution had to be paid. The scales of economic justice had to balance. But what was the going rate? I didn't know for I hadn't had to balance any such scales at all for ages. Maybe the currency had even changed since I had last dated. Then what was possibly a hand job might now have become a blow one! What may have been in my day a furtive finger or two fumbling in a furry fanny might now be a pushing, pulsating penis penetrating a private place promised as the preserve for privileged people.

Perhaps I should ask him I ruminated standing by the sink in his bathroom?

I knew that I had to let him make love to me but strangely it no longer seemed as important as it had earlier. Most of the excitement and anticipation that I had felt since I entered his house had now gone. Sure there was a little tingling but not the rush of feelings I had previously. I showered, wrapped a large towel round me and returned to the bedroom where he was laying on the bed a sheet covering him. I climbed in again apologising for what had happened, but he just shrugged that off and was very understanding. 

We cuddled up together and gradually started doing all the things that a naked man and woman do when in bed together. He became hard and I held that and stroked it. He caressed my breast, quite nicely and then kissed them. We pressed our bodies together and we kissed at length and yes I became a little aroused. But not that much. That disturbed me. I should be begging him for it shouldn't I? The first time for all that time and here I was wondering what Emily was doing and glancing at the clock to see whether I'd missed the ten o'clock news. Not really the domain of the twenty first century single woman, which was how I thought of myself. Where's the tigress gone? Where's the rampant frustrated sexual goddess ready to give and take every sexual favour? I couldn't find her.

But nevertheless he was laying on me, his condom covered length was against my pubis, my thighs opened and he slid down so that the tip of that blood engorged tower was pressing against the velvety, also blood engorged lips of that tunnel of love that we keep there for special occasions. He was grunting and sighing as his hips pushed forward. As indeed I was as, for the first time in a year, I was penetrated. He was in me, up me filling me. I was being fucked I thought wondering who was presenting the news on TV that night. A few minutes of, what I thought were, relatively expert thrusting and he was telling me that he was nearing his ejaculation. I'd better join in I thought throwing my body around a bit and gasping and sighing as for the first time in my life I feigned an orgasm. I think I must have a natural talent for it as he was so pleased that he had 'made me cum' and that we'd climaxed together.

Not a bad night's' work I thought later at home in my own bed. Not bad but not great for certainly the sex had, at best, been confusing, and was not the blisteringly fantastic experience I had expected on my return to being a player of that game. Ah well always next time I smiled as I slid off to sleep after my first date as a single woman.

In the three months or so of our affair the sex did get better. Not a lot, but better than that first time. With me not wanting to introduce Emily to my date we settled into a routine. We'd usually meet for lunch once a week occasionally then going to his house or my flat and spending a couple of hours in bed. Alternatively, he'd cook me dinner and we'd have a repeat of the first time. Not, I hasten to add, with me cumming quite so quickly although, I have to admit, more orgasms were faked than were real. I became quite adept at doing that I suppose.

But there was no real fizz in it and slowly, as his kids came home for the summer holidays the relationship just fizzled out and ended.

Madly mixing metaphors, it never rains but it pours doesn't it? And like London buses none for ages then three at once. Suddenly after a three-month barren patch it was suddenly raining men for Chrissy Hunt.

To be continued - very soon

Chrissy



It's Raining Men Pt. 02



A note from Christine.

Whilst it is not essential, I strongly recommend that you read Part 1 first. It sort of puts everything into context.

Still whatever, enjoy and let me know what you think

C x

*****

There was Tom an Art Director at one of the agencies where I worked freelance. I had known him for some time, not that well and certainly not intimately, but on terms that were close enough for us to chat easily. 

There was Stuart, a lawyer I met at a dinner party and there was Gordon a fifty year old Mancunian, self-made multi-millionaire I met while on a golfing holiday with seven other women in Spain.

Tom and I sat next to each other at an awards lunch and ended up in his bed that evening. Peter and I went on several dates before gradually getting round to it and Gordon had his hand up my skirt and my tits out on a lounger round the hotel pool at two o'clock in the morning. Quite a varied lot really.

The awards ceremony was at the Savoy. All rather grand and all crushingly boring, but as I had written some copy for an Tom had designed and we were nominated we had to be there. Fortunately, the client couldn't make it so we were able to overindulge in the free booze and by the time the room was darkened and the presentations started, we were both a bit tipsy. He pulled his chair closer to mine as many of the others on the round table turned theirs towards the stage. We laughed a lot taking the piss out of some of the ads and I felt his arm go round the back of my chair and his fingers rest on my shoulder.

"And what, Mr Mason, do you think you're doing?" I asked.

"Actually Ms Hunt trying to get into your knickers."

"Well as you know better men than you at your agency have tried and better men have failed," I replied jokingly. Such banter was not that unusual between the male and female staff in the ad industry where PC still doesn't seem to have arrived.

"Yes, but they haven't been close up to you when you're tipsy and just gagging for it have they?" he quipped back.

"Who says I'm tipsy?"

"Well OK pissed then," he retorted.

As the ceremony droned on so I felt his hand softly rubbing my shoulder. As we got nearer to our section so his leg pressed against mine. As we both drank more wine so his foot ran up and down my calf and as we realised we hadn't won so I felt his hand on my leg.

"Oh well that's that then," he muttered leaning over so that his mouth was close to my ear. "We might as well go and have a quick fuck then hadn't we?" 

In my slightly, well fairly to be truthful, pissed state and with me now trying to be the sophisticated sexual creature it seemed sort of cool really to say.

"Yeah I guess we should I suppose."

So we did. Twice actually later that afternoon in his flat in Fitzrovia. And it was good. Neither of us was in that fit a state for sexual acrobatics so both times were leisurely and probably not that expert, but they were fun. 

Until Tom, I'd never really looked on sex as being fun. But with him it always was. He didn't take anything that seriously, so why should he with sex was his belief? So for a two or three month period, when he introduced me to smoking marijuana again after what must have been a fifteen or sixteen year absence, we had fun as we had sex. We smoked, drank and laughed our way through a series of premature ejaculations, a number of 'oh fuck it I can't get it ups' and some absolutely monumentally mind blowing sessions. 

At the same time, Stuart was pulling me. Slowly and methodically as his legal training prompted him, he did everything absolutely properly. 

The first date all friendly and diplomatic and a peck on the cheek as we said goodbye. The second, dinner, at a posh Italian restaurant in Chingford was a little more romantic and talk of a more intimate nature followed by a lips on lips kiss in the cab on the way to my home. No thought on either part though of coming in for coffee, no not on a second date that would not be right. It was on the third, though, as was a full on kiss and tongues in the other's mouth. Up top only on the third date as he enquiringly at first touched my breasts. Finding only the appropriate level of resistance he persevered as we sat in his flat that was just round the corner from the Italian restaurant. Over what must have been an hour he undid a couple of buttons on my blouse. It took probably another twenty minutes for him to get his fingers inside my bra and another ten or so before he eased each boob out from its restraining cup.

Being the demure and modest lady I felt he wanted me to be, after he'd played with them for a while not, of course going so far as to suck my nipples even though that was exactly what I wanted him to do, I put my toys away and went home an intact and well behaved lady. 

As I had got back into dating I'd worked out that the fourth or fifth date is the watershed. It's the one where you've both got to know each other quite well, where inhibitions have gone a bit and both parties are quite comfortable with each other.

So when he also suggested the new man thing of, 'come round and I'll cook you dinner' for our fourth date I assumed that this would be where the heat would be turned up. 

As I rode over to his place by cab I recalled the old schoolgirl dating protocol of 'only up top for the first few dates and no up the skirt until at least the fourth or fifth!' I was quite pleased that I wasn't wearing trousers this time!

Out of his pinstripe suit and white button down shirt Stuart was a different man. Once he threw off the uniform and restrictions of his profession he changed completely. When naked he was godlike. I could hardly believe that the man who had been so diplomatically dating me could be so awesome in bed. He was an amazing lover. Quite the most technically adept I had been with.

After the meal, we sat together on the sofa and he took up from where he had left off last time. Remember that? Bra still on, but tits out yet no sucking or nipple chewing. Of course, this time there was that. That and so much more. I had never had a man pay such homage to my breasts before.

He had undone the buttons on my blouse, gone through the cursory entry level of caressing me outside my bra before again getting them out. This time though he leaned behind me and undid my bra. I like that feeling as the restriction of the tight elastic is removed. I like the sensation as the cups are eased away from the mounds. And I enjoy the look on a lover's, well a potential lover in this case, face when he looks at them for the first time. 

I am a little bit arrogant about my tits. I know they're not bad at all. I know I've got a good rack and I know that many/most men are suckers for full tits. And Stuart was no exception. Where he was different, though, was the time he took playing with them and what he did to me by doing that. He must have licked and kissed every single square millimetre of them at least once and for an age. He must have sucked and chewed each of my nipples for longer than News at Ten lasts and he stroked each of the orbs until I was in fear that he might rub them away. One way of losing a little weight I guess. 

So, naked above the waist, skirt pushed up to mid-thigh my breasts being lengthily stimulated by this amazingly patient man, what did I do? Unusually for me I did just lay back and enjoy it. He was so in charge and was so systematically directing proceedings it didn't seem right for me to interject. Sure I kissed him back when appropriate and I did undo a couple of buttons on his shirt and yes I felt his, quite impressive, length through his trousers, but not much more. My part seemed fairly well defined and that was to be his plaything. So plaything I became.

And boy did he play. Although his concentration was on my boobs, and wonderfully so I must say, there was the occasional fingers sliding along my thighs and now and then the lightest touch on my panty covered pussy. As I tended to jerk when he did that, well girls do don't they, he would then apply a little more pressure right there. Right where I wanted that pressure. Right where all females love that pressure. Yes right alongside my clit that, unlike many men, he seemed to find so easily. Usually as he did that he was sucking, quite noisily in fact, on a nipple or licking the softer flesh of one of my tits. The combination of being strongly stimulated in two places at once had the inevitable effect on me. Yes I climaxed, twice for sure and maybe three times on that sofa. 

It wasn't anything like it had been with Peter where I embarrassed myself by cumming far too early. No, with Stuart, my climaxes were an essential part of the sexual foreplay as he saw it. It was almost as if it was my duty to cum. And being a dutiful girl I did, willingly and explosively with his hand between my legs and his mouth on my tits.

But that was just the start. As I lay on the sofa in my mellow, post orgasmic state, he stood up and not taking his eyes from mine for a moment he undressed. As I said, out of his pinstripes he was truly beautiful, if that term can be applied to a male physique! He had an almost perfect body, at least to my eyes. Tall and slim without an ounce of unnecessary flesh he obviously looked after himself in the methodical way he did everything else including me. Lightly tanned with a covering of hair on his chest he had an absolutely flat six pack and a beautifully long and smooth cock that reared up from a thatch of golden pubes tinged with splashes of grey. Unlike many men, Paul was totally unselfconscious about his nudity, he picked me up and carried me to his bedroom. 

You'll notice that I'm not including much dialogue and that's because we hardly talked throughout the entire episode. But then the way that Stuart made love didn't programme in talking.

Sitting on the bed with me standing next to him he slid my skirt up. He did make a noise then by sighing deeply as he looked at the white, pretty much see-through, satin and lace knickers I was wearing. As fthe weather was still warm and my legs still had the tan from my Italian holiday I was not wearing tights or stockings. Slowly moving the fingers of one hand in little circles right on my clit he eased the back of my panties down with the other. Eventually getting them down my thighs he took them and then my skirt off.

At last I got to lie on the bed and was thinking that now we would fuck. Wrong. Oh no. No it was not time in his programme for that. No this was the time for the beneath the waist foreplay. I won't bore you with the tedious details, but we then had another hour or so of him attending to every part of my lower body. Strangely though only with his hands and not once did he use his tongue or mouth on my pussy. But the intensity and, I have to say gentleness and expertise, with which he inflamed my lips both inside and out continued on my clit and all around my bottom made me cum again. 

His lovemaking though quite expert and very giving was sort of mechanistic and so bloody drawn out. It was as though he could give for ever but not want anything in return. As though he took all I had, but never really revealed anything about himself. Even when, eventually, he did fuck me it was as if he were programmed. He did everything correctly, he took his time, he combined long and short thrusts and fast and slow ones but not once did he let himself go. No loud moans or words. It was like being fucked by a machine. True a powerful and very efficient one, but still a machine. A fucking machine actually.

So. in my raining men period I had one guy where it was all fun and another where it was mechanistic. 

On the golf trip to Spain I found one in the middle

I was in Spain with seven other women of varying ages on a golf trip. Five rounds in seven days staying in a great hotel right on a golf course. It was a popular place for groups of particularly English golfers to go and the place was full. What more could eight female golfers want? Great golf, sun, a smashing hotel, good food and wine and a hotel full of men!

We had been chatted up quite a lot for we were very much in the minority amongst the, mainly, male golfers. Around the pool, on the course and at the clubs and restaurants we visited in the evenings. A couple of the girls had got off with guys and, funnily enough they were both married. Us single women seemed more reticent but, what the hell, the old golf maxim of 'what happens on tour stays on tour' would be strictly enforced, wouldn't it?

It was our fifth night. We had been out each night so we had decided to eat in the hotel restaurant. That day we had accepted an invitation from a group of guys to play mixed golf and I had been paired up with Gordon. He was a sturdy man with strong looking arms and hit the ball miles. A bit wayward, but a fair golfer even though his handicap was higher than mine. Nice to shove that at the men, I'm fifteen!

He was from Manchester and as we wandered round the course he told me that he owned a business that manufactured something that I never quite understood. He was supposedly separated from his wife and three kids and lived in Cheshire just south of the city. We got on well. He had a good sense of humour didn't take himself too seriously and flirted with me in a friendly and challenging manner. He had a quick mind and I admired his thoughtful phrasing even though he made it quite obvious that "he was available" if I wanted him. Nearly five hours of golf and talking and you get to know someone pretty well. And overall I quite liked what I got to know.

Although my affair with Stuart was on the wane that with Tom was still wafting along on a cloud of smoke, booze and laughter but was going nowhere. So was I on the lookout, I wondered that evening getting ready for dinner, for a Stuart replacement?

I didn't give it that much thought but I did find myself dressing in underwear that would look good to be undressed in. Daft and a little lacking in moral fibre, but then hey I'm single and free aren't I? And of course I'm now a woman of the 21st Century and if I want a quick fuck why not?

It didn't come to that. Not quite. It could have easily. It was there for me to take if I wanted but I didn't

After the dinner there was a dance in the disco and Gordon made a beeline for me.

"Looks as if Chrissy's pulled," one of the girls remarked as he pulled me onto the dance-floor a third time.

As the disco closed with a slow, smoochy number so I was in Gordon's arms pressed fairly tightly to him. 

"Maybe a night-cap somewhere?" he suggested.

Showing strong resolve as not absolutely sure that all that happens on this tour would actually stay on tour.

"Sorry Gordon, I will have to pass I am very tired.

The next evening I had no excuse to avoid the night-cap and we had a drink in a bar just down the road from the hotel. He was easy to talk to and told me that he was in London often and perhaps we could meet. I agreed.

Walking back to the hotel he slid his arm round my waist. It felt nice so I left it there. I was wearing a silk dress with a lowish neckline and a skirt that may have been on the short side for a woman of my age, but hey what the hell!

We went into a side entrance to the hotel grounds. It was dark and secluded. He stopped and turned to face me. I knew what was coming and was prepared, in fact I welcomed him pulling me into his arms. It felt nice. It felt warm and comforting being in his arms. And I felt nice. Very mellow and satisfied, a little tipsy, quite receptive and close to him. I was absolutely primed I imagine for him to make his move on me. We kissed open mouthed with lips squirming. I could feel him hardening.

He took me by the arm and said,

"Come on let's go for a walk."

His authoritative and commanding manner sort of impressed me and didn't think for one moment of saying no.

We wandered around the hotel and into the extensive ground, across the large pool area and onto a narrow pebbly path that ran alongside the beach. He was telling me about his business at first and then we chatted about golf and I told him a little about my life. We'd been walking for ten minutes or so away from the hotel and we'd reached what was a public beach area with loungers spread out over it. It was dark and very secluded.

"You really are a stunning woman Christine," he told me stopping and turning towards me.

I never know what to say when complimented like that so I usually smile and say, thank you, as I did to him.

"And on top of that an intelligent one and a great golfer," he went on smiling but also playing to my weakness of being told I'm intelligent. I like that. I like to be admired for that more than I do my looks although being admired for my tits does run my mind a close second.

We found a shelter along the gravel path that ran behind the beach and sat down. It was very dark and completely deserted. We kissed again and this time it went on for ages and, of course his hands found my boobs. He slid the thin shoulder strap off and slipped his hand firstly inside my top, but outside my bra and then inside that. He cupped and squeezed my boobs then pinched and pulled each nipple in turn. I am very sensitive there and his fingers aroused me quickly. I grunted.

"Ok Chrissy?" he asked.

"Yes, fine," I whispered cuddling his head as he bent forward and sucked, what seemed like half my tit into his mouth. That sent me climbing further up the wall of sexual excitement, which in turn lowered any resistance I may have had and shoved my inhibitions right out the window. 

He had primed me perfectly so, as his hand slid up my bare legs and rubbed against my stomach and then pressed right against my closed thighs, I opened them.

By rubbing my clit through my panties, he made me cum quickly and he held me panting in his arms as my climax slowly subsided. As I recovered, he took my hand and pressed to his body. He had undone his zip so my hand went right onto his bare cock. 

Almost at the same time, he pushed the gusset of my panties to one side and his fingers found the extreme wetness of my pussy. I rubbed his cock and he went to pull my panties down.

Somehow my resistance increased and my common sense returned.

"No Gordon, stop," I said grabbing hold of the waist of my panties.

"Why, come on Chrissy."

"No, don't be daft," I said pushing my skirt down.

"Fo"

It was all becoming a bit messy. Here was I on the one hand acting like an out of control nympho getting laid regularly with a changing rota of men yet on the other I was trying to fulfil my duties as a mum. Logistically and physically I could just about make it work and, in any case, I've always enjoyed sex in the afternoons, there's something so splendidly sordid about it isn't there? 

It was the emotional bit I couldn't hack so well. The lies to my daughter. The recall when she came home from school that just previously her loving, caring mum had been in bed with a man her legs wrapped round him as he took her to heights of sexual joy and pleasure. The memory when she came home one morning that the previous night I'd had sex with Gordon on the very sofa on which she was sitting. And the guilt. I simply felt guilty about the loose way I acted. The way that I'd gone with Gordon so easily on that beach and the way that I went with Mike in his car. Oh I haven't told you that yet have I? Should I? Do you want more of the same tedious details of my descent into what I was becoming to think of as a pretty decadent life-style?

No we'll skip that for a while and I'll tell you about Brad. He was my escapade into the world of toy boys.

I'd hurt my back playing tennis and went to a local physio. Just my luck, good or bad I'll leave you to judge, to be treated by a twenty five year old Aussie hunk! 

As I lay on his massage table and he massaged my legs I just can't tell you of the erotic thoughts I had. Each time his strong hands slithered up my oiled thigh I imagined them on one sweep not stopping. I almost felt them continuing upwards. It was as though he was really pushing them further. Further so they went right onto my pussy. They didn't, of course and he was impeccably behaved.




It's Raining Men Pt. 02



But at home on the nights when I'd visited him. They didn't stop. No as I lay alone in my bed naked they went all the way. And as my fingers found the place I imagined his going to, in my mind it was his hand on my wetness. His fingers entering me and it was him, not me, that brought on my climaxes.

So after having had him make finger love to me so many times in my mind I guess I was primed for him when he asked me out for a drink.

His body was like images that are secreted away in the dim recesses of my memory. It was so firm. So lithe and wiry. It was smooth and felt incredible up against me that first time we made love. And that first time was quite amazing, well to me it was, being used to having sex with older men for so long. 

I had never been fucked four times in an evening. In fact I'd never been fucked more than twice. But with the stamina that prior to him I could only dream about or read of in erotic novels he seemed to be ready again so quickly that I'd hardly come down from one orgasm when he was sending me up the wall of another.

It wasn't like a proper affair largely, I have to admit with a degree of disappointment about myself, because I didn't feel that comfortable being out with him. Being in though was different so we spent most of our dates in bed in his small flat in East London. Not that frequent perhaps once a fortnight for a few months we'd meet, sometimes, but not often have a drink, then go to bed. As simple as that. It was purely the sex. There was nothing else. Of course I liked him but I saw no future or anything else in him other than his amazing stamina and fabulous cock. 

And that did sort of disgust me. That I was seeing a man purely for his sexual prowess did make me sit up and think. Not at first for then I was like a bitch in heat for him. I couldn't get enough of his body. I lusted after him continuously. I'd never been with anyone like him. Anyone that could give me so much in such a short time. But afterwards I felt bad. Not that he might have fucked me three times the previous evening for that overall made me feel good although I was by then having rather worrying moral attacks. 

I was concerned at what I was becoming and at my appetite for sex. I was worried that if I didn't either settle down with one guy or find something else that I would end up sleeping my way through the entire male population. 

Morals had never been a topic that I'd thought much about. After all when happily married to a man with whom one assumes she'll spend the rest of her life there's not much need. During the happy times of my marriage, say the first eight years, I never even thought about another man sexually let alone did anything. So moral rectitude came easily and naturally. It was then quite a shock to suddenly realise that I was on the looser side of average in my attitudes.

Not just to having sex with a variety of men, but also the frequency and increasingly also the locations. Gordon had been a prime example of that and Steve was another.

I'd known him for some time through the golf club and then he asked me out. We had lunch and dinner and then we were playing together in a match some way away from both of our homes. On the dates we had kissed and he'd briefly touched my breasts but we hadn't by then, gone any further. I'd assumed that shortly we would but the opportunity just hadn't arisen.

After the dinner and we'd said our goodbyes he was going to give me a lift to my car that I'd left at a service station on the M25. He lived in a completely different direction to me from that station. In the car he didn't start the engine but instead turned to me and after sliding his arm along my seat leaned across and kissed me. I responded. He kissed me deeper and I responded deeper.

"Oh shit Chrissy I so want you," he muttered his hand going to my breast.

"Oh" was all I could think of saying as his fingers squeezed me.

We kissed again and he started undoing my top. Alright it was dark outside but for Christ's sake it was a golf club car park and you know what sticklers they are for proper dress code. And being topless in their car park certainly wouldn't qualify.

"No Steve, no," I said holding his wrist before uttering those words that are so easy to misconstrue. "Not here."

"OK," was all he said starting the engine before adding, "it's too late for a hotel so we'll just have to find somewhere else won't we?"

"What in the car?"

"Yes why not?"

"I need you badly and you do want me don't you"

"Yes," I whimpered partly frightened at the idea and partly hugely excited by it.

He found a place stuck in a wood where we could park but would be able to see any other car if it approached. And then on the back seat of his huge Mercedes by the light from the dashboard I started to have sex in a car for the first time since my teens.

At first I wanted to keep my clothes on but take my panties and bra off. That seemed a sensible precaution should we be disturbed. But it didn't happen like that. The more we kissed and he touched me so the more appealing and exciting the notion of being naked became. Not just being naked but also being outside the car, well it was July.

And that was my next step in the direction of debasing myself and in self-disgust. I let him fuck me with both of us naked and me lying across the bonnet of his car.

So that was those two fucking years. There were a couple more men but what I've described are the main events.

In the end, I could do it no more. The hassle the self-analysis the pretence to Emily and the after feelings of disgust with myself became too much. I was finding that sex without any emotional involvement was unrewarding. And I just couldn't let myself become emotionally involved for fear of once more becoming dependent on a man. The classic Catch 22; I wanted sex, but did not want emotional involvement, but sex without that was unacceptable.

So once more, as I had during the first year after parting, I chose celibacy. And that's how am now and those years when it was raining men are just a dim and distant memory.